


Hug-mageddon

by Spoon888



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hugging As Communication, Hugs, M/M, Megatron Gives Good Hugs, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Hugging, Pre-Relationship, The Hug To End All Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: This alien civilisation gives a whole new meaning to the concept of 'hugging it out'.
Relationships: Megatron & Optimus Prime, Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 41
Kudos: 230





	Hug-mageddon

**Author's Note:**

> For a-life-revised on tumblr, who not only came up with this idea, but was kind enough to let me write it.

Megatron stepped off the transport ship onto the landing pad, and a faceless, knee-high biped stepped forward with open arms to hug his left leg. 

Megatron's initial instinct would have been to blast his affectionate assailant clean off the landing pad with his fusion cannon. 

That intergalactic-incident-in-the-making was prevented only by the smallest glimmer of patience not yet stamped out of him by the war and years of dealing with _Starscream_ , and he managed to endure the greeting with no more reaction to it than a shockingly polite grunt of acknowledgement. Tragically, the faceless biped hadn't recognised the scars and warpaint littering his frame as a warning to them that his frame was not compatible with this sort of affectionate nonsense. They tightened their hold. 

This was not a good sign. Three seconds in and his patience was already wearing thin. 

Because today, he was to suffer the mortifying ordeal of playing the _diplomat_.

Hyperion Intergalactic was a multi-system super-company that had grown so massive and imposing over the centuries it had evolved into it's own form of civilisation. Citizen was synonymous with employee, and it was, to be frank, Megatron's idea of a waking nightmare. 

And if it's cult-like existence wasn't bad enough, Hyperion Intergalactic traded exclusively in advanced weaponry and defensive arms -arms _so good_ in fact, that they rivalled eighty million years worth of Cybertronian evolution, and in some places, surpassed it. Which meant they were a rather difficult people to bully. 

Their latest must-have innovation was their planetary defence minefield - a web of explosive satellites with sensors powerful enough to encompass a planetary mass as big as a supergiant. Anything larger than a rust mite popping up on a sensor would set off an explosive force over one hundred megatons. 

There was nothing to rival it. It was the perfect means of fortifying any planetary base from Autobot invasion, and Megatron _would_ possess it, by any means necessary. 

But Hyperion was far too powerful to fold to the demands any single galactic warlord, and Megatron was not equipped to fight a war on two fronts. The Decepticons were going to have to _reason_ with these clingy little limpets, and it was just more bad luck that Megatron had long since retired his diplomatic corps.

(Or technically, had had the DJD retire them _for_ him. They had been much too keen on non-violent means of conflict management for his liking anyway. Autobot sympathisers in the making.)

He couldn't very well send Tarn and the DJD to appeal their case to Hyperion though. Tarn may like to think of himself as civilised member of society but behind the farce of bureaucracy he was as much a twisted psychopath as any of them. 

So no. Megatron had had to come himself. 

And alone at that. Hyperion had not monopolised a good third of this galaxy by being careless in their business deals. Warlords were, after all, their key customers. And they knew how they operated. 

Hence why the Nemesis was currently docked far away at the nearest spaceport, filled with a crew sulking at the lack of havoc they were reaping. 

Megatron was still being hugged when another, identical, biped stepped forward to greet him. 

"You have arrived." They stated without a hint of emotion, in complete juxtaposition to the way they began to move in with arms opened threateningly wide. 

The first limpet had yet to let go, and Megatron's gasket pressure climbed to a dangerous level when his _other_ leg was embraced. It took every ounce of restraint not to shake the two of them off his legs and then boot them up into the stratosphere where they could implode upon impact with their own precious minefield. 

"I have arrived," he agreed stiffly, lifting his foot and giving it a subtle little shake. The biped released, and Megatron quickly repeated the action with the other foot to free himself. There were other bipeds in the greeting party mere metres away from him though, so he took a dignity-preserving step back before he ended up covered in them. 

"Welcome to Hyperion Intergalactic's planetary headquarters; Unitas," the first biped to hug him spoke up, emoting no more enthusiasm than someone reading from a dictionary. "For the purposes of security you will be asked to wear a tracking badge during your stay." 

The biped revealed a fist sized metal badge from behind their back. Megatron took it, studying it cautiously. It emitted a fairly harmless signal, which he assumed was the tracking technology. "Fine." He grunted, and slapped it on his chest, where it locked to his armour magnetically.

The biped nodded in satisfaction. "Once the formalities of your arrival have been taken care of, your tour of the research and development facility will commence." 

"I have neither the time nor inclination to indulge in _sightseeing_ ," Megatron began fiercely, shoulders rolling back so he loomed menacingly over the short beings. 

"Your schedule has been prearranged and is not subject to change." The biped was utterly unshaken by the low rumble of his vocaliser. "By entering into this contract you will be agreeing to our terms of conduct." 

Megatron stared. The biped did not stare back. It did not have optics. Just a smooth, featureless face. Megatron wasn't going to win a staring contest with any of them. 

"...Fine," he bit out. 

The biped moved forward to hug him again, and this time Megatron stepped back in alarm with a sharp snap of, " _Must_ you?!" 

"Of course," the biped's helm dipped. Behind them, their dozen identical clones dipped their own helms in unison. "Physical contact of this nature is how Hyperion Intergalactic initiates and maintains mutual trust." 

"Have you not heard of a 'handshake?'" Megatron demanded heatedly. 

"Gestures speak louder than words," the biped said, which was probably true for them since they couldn't seem to express emotion through tone or facial expression at all -like dealing with an army of miniature, socially incompetent Soundwave's. "The entire frame must be involved in initiating the contract." 

"I am sure we can come to some sort of compromise," Megatron tried, not because he was so averse to physical touch -he endured it frequently in close range battle -but to set the tone for further negotiations. The last thing he needed was to look weak. 

"Of course. Processing an appeal of that nature will take between six and eight months. In the mean time you are free to return to your transport and leave Unitas until such a time your appointment can be rescheduled," the biped said, pretty much putting it's tiny foot down. 

Bureaucracy. Perhaps he should have sent Tarn after all. 

Megatron clenched his jaw and gave a little nod of resignation, tipping his helm back to glare up at the sky when the biped moved in to hug him again, little limbs locking around his calf armour. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that behind the grey clouds was the super weapon he had come for. He could endure a hug or two for that. 

* * *

They took him to the main lobby, a large circular room with a domed ceiling he was only just short enough to stand under at it's lowest point. The bipeds surrounded him on all sides like a team of small bodyguards. Their short legs meant he had to amble sedately along, growing increasingly short tempered with the delays. The Research and Development facility was a sprawling multi-storey building, large even by Cybertronian standards, and touring it would take three times as long if every one of his steps counted for six of theirs. 

Just as he was at the very limit of tolerance, they stopped, and informed him that they were awaiting an additional guest before commencing with the tour. 

Megatron could stay silent no longer. The two hour etiquette lesson Soundwave had bestowed on him before allowing him anywhere near the transport went flying out the window. 

"I had a private appointment!" He thundered -and Primus help Soundwave if his Communications Officer had somehow managed to screw up and book him on a shared tour with some other pathetic wannabe world conquerer. 

The lead biped turned and hugged his leg, as if to comfort him.

"Please remain calm," they said in the least placating tone imaginable. "Due to your unique circumstances, special alterations needed to be made to ensure you would be a suitable business partner." 

"What _unique circumstances_?!" Megatron hissed, roughly shaking the biped off his leg like they were an unruly dog with a humping problem. 

"The four-million year long civil war." 

Megatron lifted his chin and took a deep calming breath. 

"I see," he adopted a much more diplomatic tone. "I hadn't thought you'd heard about that." 

"Indeed," the biped tipped their head up. "Our guest has arrived." 

Megatron turned and glowered at the doorway, hoping to terrorise whatever idiot had been ill-advised enough to involve themselves in his dealings, when they opened, and the tall, armoured frame of Optimus Prime wandered haplessly into the room. 

Megatron was so shocked by his appearance, all he could do was blink. 

Prime looked up from the swarm of small bipeds vying for a trampling, and blinked back at him. 

The sight of those bright blue unacceptably wholesome optics ignited something within his spark and snapped Megatron right out of his stupor.

"Prime!" He roared, swinging up a glowing purple fusion-cannon-

The lights shut off with an ominous clunk, throwing them into a red-tinged darkness as the lobby's advanced security network detected the activation of unauthorised weaponry. Megatron's fusion-cannon had only risen one-third of it's arc upwards to point at Prime's helm when the ceiling panels just inches above Megatron's head folded back to extend at least three dozens guns, their laser sight creating a glowing red blob of light across Megatron's Decepticon insignia. 

He froze. 

Across the room, Prime recovered from his surprise enough to feel smug over his enemy's predicament. "Hello Megatron." 

"A trap!" Megatron accused, fury raging through his frame at Prime's kindly greeting. "A typically cowardly Autobot move. Why am I not surprised to see _you_ masterminding it, Prime?"

"Megatron," Optimus began, soothing patronisation dripping from his voice, "if the three-dozen guns currently pointed at your spark should be teaching you anything, it's not to jump to conclusions." 

The bipeds around Megatron feet were waiting expectantly, their faceless helms turned towards his glowing cannon. Seasoned Cybertronian warriors cowed at the sight of his legendary weapon. But these bipeds seemed to view him and it as no more dangerous than a loose toddler wielding a stapler. 

With death one wrong move away, Megatron really didn't see any choice but to offline his cannon. It powered down with an emasculating whine. He let his arm fall to his side, but didn't take his gaze off Prime for a second. 

Just as quickly as they'd switched off, the lights came back on, the guns retracting and closing behind their hidden panels. Megatron eyed the ceiling resentfully before returning to the source of his true ire. 

"You've some explaining to do," Megatron grunted at Prime. 

"I was about to say the same of you," Oddly enough, Optimus sounded as irked by the situation as he was. 

"Hyperion Intergalactic has a reputation as an ethical arms dealer," the biped between them explained, and Megatron found himself cynically thinking those last three words really shouldn't have been put in a sentence together. Arms dealing wasn't typically thought of when it came to _ethical_ businesses. 

"Before offering a contract to a new client we must ensure that the goals and motivations of the organisation using our technology fits the conduct of jus in bello-" 

Megatron could barely refrain from rolling his optics, "Just war," he clarified to Optimus. 

"I _know_ what it means," Prime bit back. 

"-So Hyperion Intergalactic has had the foresight to invite both involved parties to Unitas to ensure the Cybertronian Civil War meets the criteria of just war before accepting a contract." 

"But when is war ever just," Prime lamented sadly, sounding introspective. 

This time Megatron _did_ roll his optics, "Oh, shut _up_ , Prime-!" 

"Please," The biped interjected, holding two tiny hands up between them, as if that could ever stop two giant metal warriors flying across the room and beating each other to death with their bare hands. "There is no war on Unitas. You will be expected to treat one another with courtesy and respect." 

Megatron grimaced. Across from him Prime made a deeply unhappy noise -it sounded like his engine backfiring. 

"This is ridiculous," Megatron hissed, glowering down at the closet biped, unable to tell the difference between them and now unsure of which he was actually angry at. "Do you honestly believe _he_ won't do everything in his power to sabotage any hope of me obtaining this contract?!" 

"Should Optimus Prime wish for Hyperion Intergalactic to fill his own order for the planetary minefield technology, yes, he will." The biped nodded firmly. 

Megatron squinted at Prime, "What would you want with an exploding minefield?"

"To prevent asteroid strikes, Megatron, what do you _think_ we're going to use it for?" Prime gave him a dull look. 

Megatron snapped his gaze back to the biped, flustered. "You can't- he- you can't give it to both of us!"

"There is no shortage in supply." The biped informed them pleasantly. "There is enough to go around." 

"No! This was to be my upper hand!"

"Ah, my mistake Megatron," Prime began sarcastically. "I'll gracefully bow out and allow you sole use of the war-defining technology that could be the doom of thousands of civilisations." 

"That's slander, Prime!" Megatron barked, glancing at the watching bipeds. "Don't listen to a word he says-"

"Our decision will not be made on the outcome of infantile bickering," the biped interrupted, and had it been possible for them to alter the tone of their voice, Megatron suspected their words would have been laced with irritation. "You will prove to us that you are beings of reason, compromise, and tolerance through our culture's appropriate form of communication." 

For Megatron, who communicated almost solely through 'infantile bickering' (an unfortunate side affect of crewing his warship with idiots and choosing the most argumentative seeker alive as a first lieutenant), this would be difficult. 

Prime simply nodded, stepping forward and meeting Megatron's glower. "A perfectly reasonable request." 

Megatron grunted. 

"Excellent." The biped stepped out of the way, leaving a clear path between Megatron and Optimus. "You may now embrace." 

Optimus faltered. Megatron nearly onlined his fusion cannon and triggered the security system all over again. 

Prime bent at the waist and leaned towards the biped. "Excuse me?" 

"The purest form of communication is through physical embrace," the biped explained. 

"...You want us to _hug_?" Prime realised with quiet horror. 

"My defensive protocols are not compatible with embracing." Megatron protested hotly. "If Prime so much as touches me I cannot be held responsible for my own actions." 

"You can shut those protocols down," Prime reminded him. Idiot. 

" _They_ didn't need to know that, did they?" He hissed. 

"Please proceed," the biped waved their hand, as though they were deaf to their victim's mildly panicked pleas. 

Prime stepped forward first, squaring his shoulders and lifting his helm high, just as keen to sacrifice his dignity as he would have been his life. "Alright," he grumbled, "let's get this over with."

"The embrace must last a full twenty seconds to qualify." The biped dashed anyone's hopes of a quick, insincere grab and slap on the back. 

"Well that's obscene," Megatron was disgusted. "No one hugs for twenty seconds. Even if they genuinely like one another." 

"You have a great deal to communicate with this embrace," the biped pointed out. "Our research psychologists estimate there is years of bottled up resentment and unresolved emotional issues. This will be good for your relationship, and the development of your war." 

"Emotional what?!" Megatron blanched. 

"Megatron, will you stop arguing and hug me so we can move on with our lives?" Prime demanded loudly, taking Megatron's attention away from the tiny biped just one more tactless sentence away from being trod on. 

"Sounding rather keen, aren't you?" 

Prime didn't dignify him with an answer, and tragically Megatron would never be able to tell if Optimus was blushing under that battle-mask. He was stood with his palms out placatingly, like being asked such an outlandish thing was completely inconsequential to him. As if this wasn't a mockery to their rivalry and an insult to their reputations as formidable warriors. 

Megatron steeled himself. Fine. If Prime wanted to play it this way, he'd make sure the Autobot would regret it -by hugging him so tightly that his flimsy spinal-strut snapped in half. 

"Ready when you are, Prime," he growled, stepping up with a smirk pulling at his lips as he cracked his knuckles threateningly. Opposite him, Prime held eye contact, pulling his arms across his chest one by one to stretch them out and flex them. 

Looked like it was going to be crush or be crushed. 

They closed the distance between each other confidently, as easily as if they were charging at one another across the battlefield. Megatron supposed it would be like grappling. Only slower. 

They were a mere metre from one another when Megatron suddenly realised he had no idea how to initiate physical touch without throwing a punch first. He stopped abruptly -his dignity saved marginally by the fact that Prime also halted his progress before impact- arms falling heavily to his sides.

He stared at Prime. Prime stared back. A heavy silence stretched out between them. The bipeds were watching expectantly. 

"Well?" Megatron snapped, when it finally became unbearable. 

"Well what?" Prime's hands were balled into fists. "Aren't you going to hug me?!"

"This was _your_ idea-"

"No, it was not!" 

"You want to hug me? Then get over here and _do it,"_ Megatron snapped, pointing at the tiny slither of space still remaining between them. "Or are you too much of a coward?" 

Prime's optics narrowed. He took the last step forward. 

Every one of Megatron's defensive protocols were screaming at him to either strike or back away. But he stood his ground. The tension between them was thick and charged with electricity, but Prime couldn't seem to bring himself to touch him. His optics darted to the side, the crease of his brow deep as he shuffled minutely closer. Megatron moved forward, watching the gap between their chest plates shrink warily. 

Prime reached for him gingerly, arms half raised. Megatron responded in kind, leaning away from Prime's personal space even as he inched forwards into it. Their fields brushed -Prime's oozing with such virtuous warmth his underlying apprehension was only just barely noticeable. 

Megatron shuddered. Dragging it out like this was only making it worse. He decided he would tackle the situation like he would any obstacle in life: with complete disregard for caution. 

"Enough of this!" He barked, and _threw_ himself at Optimus. 

Prime's optics flared in alarm at what, to him, looked like the beginnings of an attack, but they were stood too close together for him to counter. Megatron easily locked his arms around Prime's generous torso and yanked him in. 

Their chests collided with a comical klunk and a low grunt burst out of Optimus's vocaliser as his internals were squeezed. 

" _Megatron_ , you're-" Optimus twisted in Megatron's grip as they heard three-inch thick battle-armour begin to groan under the pressure. Megatron grinned and tightened his grip further. With any luck, he could crush Prime into scrap and he'd be the sole benefactor of the minefield defence. 

But Prime never went down without a fight. 

Optimus's arms came around him in turn, and began to constrict. Megatron winced, his own grip loosening as his vents struggled to suck in enough air. 

"Prime-!" He hissed into his enemy's audial, digging his fingers into Optimus's back. "You -won't - win this!" 

Optimus grabbed his own wrist behind Megatron's back and upped the pressure. Air escaped Megatron's vents in a breathless wheeze. He squinted over Optimus's shoulder at the expectant bipeds watching them, who had clearly never considered that their 'compassionate' method of communication could ever be used as such a weapon, and did nothing to intervene. 

Weak and losing, Megatron loosened his grip with a curse, letting his helm fall forward against Optimus's shoulder. 

A beat passed, and perhaps realising it wasn't a trap to get the upper hand, Optimus took mercy on him. 

Megatron sucked in a deep breath as he was released enough to allow his vents to expand with air. He remained slumped against his enemy's front as he recovered. Victorious, Prime rested his powerful hands against the centre of Megatron's back, and gave him a condescending pat. 

"Stop picking fights you can't win," he murmured smugly. 

Megatron growled against his shoulder but didn't lift his head. He wasn't sure if it was humiliation or exhaustion that kept him in place, but Prime hadn't released him yet either, and the longer they stood simply ...holding each other, the more natural it began to feel. 

They fit together well, and as the last few aches and pains of nearly being crushed began to leave his frame, the harder Megatron found it to let go. 

Optimus didn't smell half bad either -Megatron found himself thinking, his nose pressed against a clavicle seam. He turned his head into Optimus's neck, shifting his grip on him so one arm was locked around his waist and the other was reaching up his back, a hand resting on the nape of his neck. Optimus tightened his arms around him again. But it was a good sort of tightness. 

Megatron wanted to melt into it. He found himself returning it. Optimus's engines began to hum contently. 

It wouldn't do Megatron's reputation any good if Prime were the first to pull away, but Optimus was currently running a hand up and down Megatron's back, so it was clear he wasn't going to. And for some reason, Megatron was fine with that. 

How long did the bipeds say they had to remain like this? 

"-we are to keep to the schedule I must insist we proceed." 

Megatron blinked his optics open when the biped spoke. He hadn't realised he'd closed them. He and Optimus lifted their heads to look at their audience. 

"Ten minutes is quite long enough." The biped continued. "You have more than proved your capacity for compassion." 

"Ten _minutes_?" Prime reaffirmed, sounding as shocked as Megatron felt by how much time had passed. 

They looked at each other, and realising they were still clinging to one another flung themselves back with shouts of surprise. 

Prime stood with his arms suspended outwards in what Megatron could only read as acute horror at his own actions. He himself frustratedly brushed his armour down.

"Wonderful," he muttered, shaking his arms out. "Now I need a shower." 

Optimus grumbled something under his breath about him not being the only one. 

"Unfortunately, there are no showers on the tour," the biped informed them, oblivious to the entirely different type of tension filling the room. 

Their little cronies began to _herd_ him and Prime back into each other's vicinity as they were led out of the lobby and into the hallway that would take them towards the factory floor, and then the labs on from there. "But you will see plenty of experimental explosives." 

Megatron found himself cheering at that thought, wondering if he'd be allowed to test one out on Prime. 

He glanced the Autobot's way and found Optimus already glaring at him. "Don't even think about it." 

Megatron smirked, felling oddly compelled to ...squeeze him again. 

* * *

  
What would have been an otherwise enjoyable tour of the arm's factory filled with all the sorts of weaponry Megatron would have loved to give Starscream and Shockwave a chance at recreating was utterly ruined by Prime's obnoxious presence. 

The earlier awkwardness of the _incident_ at least meant Optimus wasn't his usual unbearably snarky self, but no amount of uncomfortable situations could ever stop the onslaught of disapproving sighs and head shakes at the existence of some of the fantastically unethical weaponry on display.

Worse still, Megatron could barely pay attention on the tour. Because all he could think about every time Prime grumbled or sighed or shook his head, was their fragging _hug_! And his impractically conflicted feelings on it. 

His earlier anger and humiliation over the matter was transmuting unsettlingly into feelings of fondness and longing. He kept thinking of the warmth of Prime's arms. The steady rise and fall of his chest against Megatron's. The rich iron scent of his armour. The slide of his strong hand up and down his back. The pleasant swell of comfort that had swept through him when the embrace tightened.

He shuddered. 

"Megatron?" 

Prime was looking at him. 

"What?!" He snapped defensively, "I'm thinking of the creative way's that acid-atomiser can melt your face off." 

Prime's concerned optics narrowed into slits, "If you're angry over the hug-"

"That wasn't a hug. It was a fight." 

A brow arched. "It felt like a hug to me when you started nuzzling my neck." 

Megatron's jaw flexed, "I did no such thing." 

"It seems to me you're itching for a rematch," Prime challenged, turning towards him. 

Megatron squared his shoulders and approached, more than happy to indulge him in one.

"You should have quit while you were-" He stopped, realising that he was being goaded into a _hugging_ rematch. He stepped back with a sneer. "Nice try, Prime, but I've no desire to reengage in that poor substitute of a real battle."

Optimus appeared to slump, "I- Megatron, I'm not actually asking to fight you-"

"I am not falling for your mind games!" Megatron snapped hurriedly, spark leaping into his throat at the what may be his rival's true intentions. His own processor was a mess of contradictory longing. He didn't need Prime's manipulations worsening it. 

"In order to stay on schedule I must insist we proceed," the droning voice of the biped speaking between them made them both jump. Megatron had to abort the kick his right leg had instinctively swung back to deal out on their tour guide. 

He grunted. "We're coming." He shot Optimus a look. "Unless you have more to say?" 

Optimus did look like he wanted to say more, but seemed to think better of it. Regret filled his optics and he turned away. The tour continued sedately, but Megatron was even less enthralled by the weaponry in research and development by then. 

Curse Optimus and his ridiculous sentimentality. It was contagious. 

It had been a while since he had been embraced by someone, that was all, he told himself. The last person he had had a decent enough relationship with to be comfortable with tactility was Terminus, so very many years ago. These ...feelings he was experiencing, this longing, it wasn't for Optimus, it was his misplaced desire to have someone to trust. 

Every time he looked Optimus's way he caught the Prime glancing back at him. He clenched his fists and let the biped's monotonous words wash over him. 

They had reached the end of the tour by now, and seen everything of interest Hyperion Intergalactic had to show. Between the factory and the conference room where they would presumably be signing contracts for the exchange of the minefields, they were left in a small private museum, displaying the history and culture of the company, from it's humble starts to it's present day monopoly. 

The bipeds made up some nonsense about needing to prepare the paperwork and told them to entertain themselves until the conference room was ready. And for beings without expressions to show their tells when they were lying, they weren't very subtle. They were leaving him and Prime alone on purpose. 

For that, and many other reasons, Megatron thought it best to keep his distance from Prime, and engrossed himself in the large holographic timeline in the centre of the room, which showed Hyperion Intergalactic's rapid expansion across star systems. He stared at the little paragraph of words without reading it, focusing simply on not looking Prime's way. 

Optimus didn't have the same self-restraint it seemed, because before long Megatron's proximity alarms were going off as a damnably soothing EM field brushed right up against his. 

"Prime!" He hissed, twisting around and squashing himself against the glass shield covering the hologram. "What the-?"

Optimus was stood right in his personal space, blocking any escape route. "I want to hug you." 

Megatron blinked, his fingers flexing against the glass behind him. He swallowed. "Don't. You. _Dare_ -"

Prime glared at him, "Don't be so dramatic, I have some self restraint." 

"Do you really?" Megatron sneered sarcastically. 

"What I'm saying is that it's odd that I want to hug you. That's not normally a desire I experience when I look at you. Quite the opposite, in fact," Prime looked aside with a frown. "You don't find that unusual?" 

Megatron crossed his arms smugly, confident enough that Prime wasn't going to throw himself at him without warning to relax slightly. "Not particularly. I have been told I give good hugs." 

Prime quirked a brow, "By who?" 

"None of your business. Now get out of my face because you won't be getting anything but a good smack from me from here on out." 

Primus was fairly un-menaced by his threat, so much so that his attention shifted away from him. He brushed Megatron aside, staring at the hologram of information behind him. "Have you read this?" 

Megatron rolled back the tingling shoulder Optimus had just touched, "What?" 

Prime was leaning so close to the glass his vents fogged it for a moment. "Four star systems in less than a century..." he murmured, reading. 

"What are you blathering on about, Prime?" 

Optimus pointed, "Crewex," he tapped a digit against the glass over a holographic moon on display. "When the ruling Taasc empire withdrew from the moon the polar regions became destabilised and suffered revolt after revolt for six centuries until ...until peace was brokered by representatives from Hyperion Intergalactic..." 

Megatron leaned in too, "Why would an arms company have any interest in stopping war?" 

"Crewex is now Hyperion Intergalactic's _third_ largest plasma cell manufacture in the Duela System..." Optimus straightened up and looked at Megatron. "...They harvested their natural resources and turned the entire population into workers."

Megatron stared at it for a moment, "...What does this have to do with hugging?" 

"They want us to come to an armistice. They haven't exactly hidden that agenda."

"By _hugging_ each other?" Megatron scoffed. "They're underestimating how stubborn you are if they think you'd surrender just for the opportunity to get another hug out of me." 

Optimus rolled his optics, switching through the holographic pages, all displaying these warring civilisations who miraculously managed to find peace after coming into contact with this company. 

"They plan to do this to Cybertron," Optimus concluded aloud. "Our planet is mineral rich. Perfect for some of the weapons we saw them developing today-"

"Don't be ridiculous. What would give them the right? Ending someone else's conflict doesn't entitle them to an entire planet and it's populace," Megatron argued, "Crewex is a sad little moon full of limbless blobs. Hyperion did them a favour." 

Optimus glared at him, "It's not just Crewex. There are dozens of systems here, maybe hundreds. Maybe more. All of them swallowed up into this great galaxy sprawling machine..." 

It was beginning to dawn on Megatron then, that there was something more to this company. He leaned in to read, shoulder brushing against Optimus's. 

He recognised some of the wars mentioned. The wars _stopped_ by Hyperion. As a mech who had been at his own war for nearing four million years, he had known many of the instigators of these conflicts. Personally. They were past allies. Past enemies. 

"These are tyrants, genocidal maniacs, extremists..." He murmured, reading the designations of these leaders who apparently happily rolled over and made nice with their hated enemies at the request of Hyperion Intergalactic. "They would have died before accepting peace. Many of them had scorched earth policies." 

"Some friends you keep," Optimus muttered. 

"What did these parasitic capitalists do to them?" Megatron clenched his fist. "What are they doing planning to do to us!?" 

He looked at Optimus, their shoulders brushing again. They were standing closer together than was really necessary, but Megatron found he didn't particularly mind Optimus's EM field invading his personal space like this. He let his expand out to mingle with Prime's, and it felt like they existed in a perfect balance with one another. It felt like they were being drawn to each other. 

Megatron's indignity began to drain away. 

Optimus's optics were a cool, soft blue. Megatron's spark warmed at the sight of them as he began to lean in- 

-Before his gaze tracked down and spotted the magnetic tracking badge on Optimus's chest. Identical to the one he was wearing. 

He scowled as realisation hit him, smacking the soft, fuzzy feelings clean out of head.

"They're brainwashing us!" 

* * *

After ripping off their badges and snapping themselves out of whatever frustratingly subtle haze they had been put under, Megatron found it much easier to shove Prime out of his general vicinity without having to worry about succumbing to the temptation of dragging him closer and smothering him in physical affection. 

Optimus insisted on taking a closer look at the badges though, and hurriedly snatched Megatron's out of his hand before he could throw it on the ground and stamp the slag out of it. 

"The hug must have been what activated the change in the signal," Prime decided, squinting at the back of the badge. 

They were stood in a corner of the museum behind where a model replica of Unitas sat. As far as Megatron could tell they were in a camera blind-spot, which should give them a few moments more to figure out how to get out of this before the bipeds realised they were on to them. 

"They transmit _and_ receive," Optimus said thoughtfully. 

"To be sure we imprinted on one another, and not on one of our fun-sized tour-guides." Megatron grumbled. "How humiliating." 

"It looks as though the signal grows in strength as time passes. Subtle." 

"It didn't _feel_ subtle," Megatron muttered indignantly. 

"Not now that they're off, no," Optimus agreed. "But it seems, with time and exposure, they will have turned us into their puppets." 

Megatron grimaced. Mind-control was just a clumsy new version of the old slave coding that had been written into many of the Low-Caste during the Bronze Age. 

"My concern is what are they going to do to us now." Optimus stroked the edge of his battle mask. "They must have contingencies for this sort of thing. We can't be the first victims to be suspicious of their insistence on hugging." 

"I'll remind you Prime that _I_ was the suspicious one. You were perfectly happy to hug your way to peace." 

Optimus glared, "I wouldn't have been happy to trade away our entire planet to an arm's developer," He sighed. "I doubt they'll let us walk out of here. Cybertron is too valuable to them. If they can't turn us into their puppets I'm sure they'll have no problem making us disappear and trying again." 

"Trying again with _who_?" Megatron wanted to laugh, "Our second in commands? _Prowl_ and _Starscream_? They're setting themselves up for failure."

"We'll need to work together to fight our way out of here." 

Megatron's tanks churned. "Work together?" He spat. "That's what they _want_. And besides, you appear to have forgotten the thousands of guns they have programmed to drop out of the ceiling and shoot anything welding unauthorised weaponry." 

"I haven't forgotten about the security measures," Prime tilted his head in a way that looked like he was smirking behind his mask. "And your fusion cannon may not have been authorised, but you were." 

Megatron frowned. "They wouldn't have made such an obvious mistake. If they know so much about us, they'll know I turn into a gun." 

Optimus's brow lifted, "Megatron, they thought they could coax _you_ into a peace treaty with the promise of hugs." 

"Point taken," Megatron agreed, and without bothering to warn Optimus in case this didn't work, threw himself into a transformation sequence. 

He span barrel over handle in the air before landing neatly in Optimus's outstretched hand. Digits curled around his grip, thumb pulling down the safety and a confident index finger resting by the trigger. Since no new weapons had been onlined and the radiation levels in the room remained the same, the security measures were not triggered. 

Megatron vibrated in Optimus's palm with amusement. 

"See old friend," Optimus said, stalking towards the museum exit, his temporary ally held out in front of him. "It's never easy to plan for you." 

He pointed Megatron at the door panel and barely had to graze the trigger before Megatron fired for him, blasting the security lock off and opening the door on it's manual release. The room on the other side was filled with the bipeds all -ironically for a weapons developer- unarmed and unable to do anything to stop them. They scattered. 

One of them darted towards a security panel, but froze when Optimus swung Megatron in his direction. 

_Just shoot them!_ Megatron snapped. 

"We're leaving," Optimus told them. "We've come to the conclusion that Hyperion intergalactic is not what we're looking for in an arms supplier." 

"You are making a mistake," the biped he was aiming at told them, sounding unnervingly calm for their inability to emote fear. "Hyperion Intergalactic has improved the lives of countless civilisations across the universe. You are throwing away a chance at peace."

"I would never trade freedom for peace," Optimus spoke in his most self-righteous of voices. "I would never give away our planet to further your agenda." 

Megatron would have rolled his optics if he'd been in bipedal mode. _Just shoot them, Prime!_

Prime let his finger drift away from the trigger, and began to back out of the room, towards the exit. The bipeds stared after them, and Megatron grumbled in frustration at not getting the chance to shoot even a single one of them. 

The transport Prime had arrived in was closest to their position, and unsure of what security measures Unitas had hidden away, Megatron didn't protest when Prime carried him onboard with him. He dropped into the pilot's seat and tossed Megatron at the chair next to him, hands already flying over the controls to start the engines. 

Megatron transformed out of gun-mode and started putting up the defensive shields. "The minefield," he reminded Optimus. "Can we get through?" 

"It's designed to keep things out, not stop them from getting away." Optimus began guiding the transport into the air. 

Megatron leant forward to look up at the sky, "You're sure about that?" 

"No." 

Alarms started blaring below them as Hyperion Intergalactic's security started to lock the area down. Optimus gunned the transport into the sky just as exterior cannons began shooting at them. Megatron gripped the armrests of his seat as Optimus took evasive manoeuvres. He wasn't a half bad pilot -for an Autobot, that was. The transport shuddered and rattled as it took fire, but they were quickly getting out of range, approaching the hidden minefield surrounding the planet. 

"If you're wrong I'm dragging you to Unicron with me!" Megatron shouted over the rattling bulkheads and straining engine as they made the last length of their journey through the atmosphere and ....

Megatron stared out across the stillness of space. Stars glinted and galaxies swirled, and their transport had survived. 

Megatron slumped back against his seat in relief as Optimus began to power down the booster rockets. "Dragging me to Unicron with you?" Optimus repeated mildly. "It's almost as if you can't bear the thought of an existence without me?"

"I meant that if my immortal spark had to suffer for eternity because _you_ got me killed, so did yours," Megatron looked away peevishly. "You can drop me off at my warship." 

"And be taken prisoner aboard Nemesis instead?" Optimus mused. "You can return to the Ark with me. Or jump out the airlock." 

"Some Prime you are," Megatron grumbled. 

"Someone would pick you up eventually." 

"Oh yes, Starscream will go out of his way to ensure I make it back safe and sound." 

"Or..." Optimus trailed off. 

Megatron sat forward, studying him. "...Or?" 

Prime shrugged, unsure of himself. "Our respective factions won't be expecting us back for a while. We don't need to return just yet." 

"What are you suggesting?" Megatron asked warily. 

"We made a good team back there."

"You mean how I blasted us out of the building and you were too cowardly to kill even one of those character-less bipeds?" Megatron snorted. "Yes, a fantastic team." 

"You could have shot them yourself," Optimus pointed out. "You didn't need me to pull the trigger." 

Megatron said nothing, glaring out of the front viewport. "What are you going to say, that they had a point? Exchanging freedoms for a chance at peace-?"

"Of course not," Optimus sounded as horrified as he felt, which was a small relief. "But we don't have to give up our freedom to create peace." 

He released the transports controls and stared down at his hands for a moment, before a _snikk_ sounded as he retracted his battle-mask. Curiosity got the better of Megatron. He couldn't look away when Optimus lifted his gaze to him, sincerity etched across his features. 

"We can do it now. Right here." 

"You want to end the civil war because we were tricked into hugging each other by vertically challenged aliens?" Megatron asked skeptically. 

"I want to give it a try," Optimus extended his hand. "And only _partially_ because you give a decent hug." 

Megatron stared at the offered hand, remembering how it had felt -wrapped around him in gun mode, sliding down his back as they embraced.

He sighed deeply, hoping this was just some latent brainwashing still lingering in his processor.

He took the hand anyway. "On the condition that one day we return to Unitas as a unified front and destroy that blasted Hyperion cult." 

"I suppose I can live with those terms," Optimus smiled. 

He shook his hand firmly. And held onto it. 

Megatron didn't pull away. 


End file.
